


A Sigh

by oliverdalstonbrowning



Series: Pas de Deux [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Apartment, Ballet Dancer! Glorfindel, M/M, Modern Middle Earth, Music, Pianist! Ecthelion, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 18:25:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9197834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverdalstonbrowning/pseuds/oliverdalstonbrowning
Summary: Ecthelion tries to understand the feelings he has towards his curious neighbour.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to make this a series, as something to be written at my own leisure, or whenever I get hit over the head with Glorfindel x Ecthelion feels. I know modern au's don't sit too well with a lot of people, but I can't stop thinking about Ecthelion being this shut-in musician with a crush on the pretty ballet dancer upstairs who is the polar opposite of him.  
>   
> I added in that Ecthelion plays the flute in his orchestra because a) canon, b) a midsummer night's dream has a dismal piano requirement and, c) versatility.  
>   
> I hope you like this second part! Let me know what you think :)

Ecthelion sat at his piano, staring at the scattered pens and scraps of paper on its surface. He was supposed to be writing a new composition, but he was lacking inspiration. All that ran through his head was _Glorfindel, Glorfindel, Glorfindel._

    Glorfindel from the apartment above, like a summer breeze, like warm, spring rain. His flowers were beginning to wilt in the vase by the window, and there was still a lock of his golden hair on Ecthelion’s sofa, left behind from his first, and only, visit.

    Ecthelion wondered where Glorfindel was. The doors of the balcony above hadn’t been opened all weekend, and no sound came through the ceiling, day or night. It seemed to Ecthelion that his mysterious admirer had disappeared, in his wake only flowers and a lock of hair.

    Ecthelion tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about how he already missed the sound of Glorfindel’s clapping whenever he played a requested piece, or the warm smile on Glorfindel’s face when he had left the apartment that night of the concert. Ecthelion tried not to think, either, on the fact that he couldn’t concentrate without Glorfindel’s occasional disruptions, which helped break up the oftentimes monotonous task of composition-writing.

    While the thought of Glorfindel continued to preoccupy him, Ecthelion checked his watch. He was going to be late for rehearsal.

    He rose from his piano, shut the balcony doors, and picked his way through the apartment, putting on shoes and finding his flute and its bag. He checked that everything was inside, grabbed a granola bar, and hurried out to get the bus into the city.

    On the ground floor on the apartment block, Ecthelion took out keys to open his mailbox. Inside was a phone bill, a bank statement and, to his immense surprise, a postcard. He didn't know anyone abroad or on holiday. Indeed, he barely knew anyone at all.

    The postcard was a picture of a sunny hillside, dotted with trees and little houses; a picturesque country photo. Curious, Ecthelion flipped it over to see who it was from. 

>     _Étude No. 3, Un Sospiro._

    The handwriting was messy and disjointed, and there was no return address or signature. But Ecthelion didn’t need one. Smiling, he tucked the mail into his bag, while the postcard he slipped into the breast pocket of his jacket, his steps already lighter and his heart a little fuller.

    He took the bus to the studio – a small, grey brick building in the middle of the city – and hurried through the front door. In the foyer, he could hear people tuning their instruments, the eerie, ghosting sound echoing around the acoustic hall, soft and easy like walking amongst a long-remembered dream. Ecthelion entered, catching the attention of several people, who looked up to see the latecomer. Over with the violinists, Finduilas smiled at him and waved. Ecthelion returned the greeting as he went to sit with the other flutists.  

    “I’m focusing on you individually today,” said the composer ruefully. Finrod’s patience with his musicians had worn thin over the past few weeks as they had been shirking rehearsals in favour of enjoying the rare sunshine while summer was still around. “If we’re rehearsing with the dancers next week, I want you all at least somewhat near perfection. Let’s start from the top.”

    Ecthelion retrieved his flute from its bag and adjusted it quickly. He was determined to practice the ballet pieces meticulously every day and gain Finrod’s approval. Even when he had compositions to write and sheet music to memorise, he was vigilant and sure-footed. This was, after all, what he had always wanted to do. As a child, he had never imagined being a musician would be such hard work, but he did not regret his decision to move to the city and continue studying. One day, it would all be worth it.

    “Do you want to go for a drink?” Finduilas asked when rehearsal was over, slinging her violin bag across her shoulder.

    “Sorry, I promised Aredhel I’d babysit tonight,” Ecthelion said, and he heard the exhaustion in his voice as he spoke. “Maybe next time.”

    He caught the bus home, squeezing on with the after-work commuters. Absently, he took the postcard from his breast pocket, examining the picture again. The location was written in the corner in white cursive writing, and Ecthelion figured that was where Glorfindel must have disappeared to. Perhaps he had work or relatives there. Hopefully he would be back soon.

    Arriving at the apartment building, Ecthelion saw at once that something was different. Tucked away against the wall inside the courtyard was a motorcycle, black and menacing, with a tinted front visor. Wondering whose it was, Ecthelion looked up, and he saw that the balcony of Glorfindel’s apartment was open. He had returned.

    Heart racing, Ecthelion hastened his step, taking the stairs two-at-a-time. He shoved his way into his apartment and immediately threw open the doors of the balcony, not even taking off his jacket before sitting at his piano. He riffled through his boxes of sheet music, double-checking the postcard for which piece he needed. He loved Liszt, and he loved that Glorfindel loved him too.

    His hands were tired from practice in the studio, but Ecthelion played diligently and neatly, extending every note and hymn out the balcony and into the courtyard. He felt full again, bright and warm like the summer breeze. It was like the whole world had transcended to just two things; Glorfindel, and music.

    Ecthelion didn’t know why he felt this way. He had never been so enamoured by another person, especially one he had just met. Perhaps it was because Glorfindel was different; because he didn’t speak to tell Ecthelion everything he wanted to say. They just needed their hands and scraps of paper under the door to bring them together.

    The sound of clapping found Ecthelion when he finished, jumping down to his balcony window. He smiled, face flushed, the summer breeze filtering against curtains and turning his heart over. Sometimes he thought Glorfindel’s clapping was more beautiful than any aria.

    He removed his jacket, slinging it on a kitchen chair and stretching. It was nearly four o’clock, which meant Aredhel would be leaving for work soon.

    After a quick run-through of his kitchen, Ecthelion realised he had no food. He put his jacket back on and left the apartment.

    He was tired. Penetratingly tired. But without consistent work, Ecthelion was troubled and lost. He wondered what would have become of him if he hadn’t come to the city. Who was he when he wasn’t busy, running from the studio to the theatre and sleeping on the bus?

    On his way down the stairs, he caught a glimpse of gold ahead of him, whisking down to the third floor. Ecthelion halted on the step, his breath catching in his chest. The postcard was still in his pocket, and he thought it was effecting the way his heart beat. He didn’t know why Glorfindel made him behave this way; unsure and awkward, torn between saying hello and vanishing into the corners.

    But Ecthelion had to get food for when Maeglin was over. He knew the kid liked salt-and-vinegar crisps and lemonade, but dinner was also up in the air, for Ecthelion hadn’t been grocery shopping for nearly two weeks.

    He continued down the stairs, wishing his heart would ease up a little. Glorfindel was already making progress to the second floor, so Ecthelion figured they’d miss each other. Half of him was glad. The other half of him wanted to pick up the pace.

    In the courtyard, the sun pooled in and brightened up the dirty corners and flowering fissures. Glorfindel was there, standing by the motorbike, squashing a helmet over his curly hair. From just beyond the foyer doors, Ecthelion watched as he swung himself over the bike and sat down. He spotted Ecthelion then, pausing before starting the ignition, staring through the tinted visor for longer than was really necessary. He waved.

    Ecthelion approached, his face warm, more than a little flustered. Glorfindel was unforgivably beautiful; his smile felt like all of Ecthelion’s happy memories brought down to a single, breathless moment.

    Glorfindel took off his helmet, his hair messy and his grin wide to each cheek.

    “I see you got my postcard,” he said.

    Ecthelion forced himself not to reach for it. He nodded.

    “You went far away,” he said. It sounded listless. He didn’t know what else to say. He had so many things on his mind, and not nearly enough words to say them with. Conversations were so much simpler when they were said with music.

    “Mum and dad live in the country,” Glorfindel explained. “I had the weekend off, so I thought I’d visit and pick up my bike.”

    “It’s – um – very nice,” Ecthelion said, though he didn't have much experience with motorcycles to make a good comparison.

    Glorfindel’s grin widened, his hand patting the body of his motorcycle. “Isn’t she? It’s been so long since I’ve gone for a ride, so I’m going for one now.”

    “Why was it with your parents?”

    “I’ve been hotel-hopping for a while, looking for a decent place to live, so having my bike would’ve been an inconvenience. But now that I’m here, I really need a way to get around. I hate taking the bus.” Glorfindel laughed to himself. “Thanks for playing that piece. It was really beautiful.”

    Ecthelion was relieved to at last have common ground to talk on, so he latched onto the topic of music at once. “You like Liszt?”

    “He’s not my favourite, but his piano pieces are wonderful.”

    “Who is your favourite?” said Ecthelion.

    Glorfindel pondered this, tapping a finger against his helmet. “I don’t know. It’s hard to choose a favourite. I love Chopin, and Rameau, and Kreisler too. But I probably don’t listen to nearly as much classical music as you must. I only really know what I’ve heard from ballet.”

    “Ballet?” repeated Ecthelion.

    Glorfindel nodded. “I’m a dancer. I just got back from rehearsals, actually.”

    Ecthelion faltered for a half-second, chewing his lip. “You aren’t performing A Midsummer Night’s Dream, are you?”

    Glorfindel opened his mouth, then closed it, his brow furrowed. “Yeah, how did you know?”

    “My group is the orchestra for that performance.”

    Glorfindel leapt off his bike very abruptly, all long arms and legs and wild, wild hair. His expression was exhilarated as he neared Ecthelion. “You mean we’re working together? I can’t believe it!”

    Ecthelion couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his own face. To see Glorfindel’s happiness was too much for his heart to bear. It was pure radiance; the entirety of summer in the twinkle of his eyes. He was so beautiful Ecthelion could have kissed him right there.

    “I didn’t know you did ballet. I would… never have expected it of you,” he managed to say instead.

    “Yeah, I get that a lot,” said Glorfindel, flashing another smile that shot right through Ecthelion’s chest. “This is such a cool coincidence!”

    Ecthelion spared a glance at his watch. “I have to get going. I guess I’ll see you around.”

    “Where are you heading? Do you want to get a drink later?”

    “I have to babysit tonight. Maybe – maybe another time.”

    “Raincheck, then. I’ll hold you to it,” said Glorfindel, throwing himself back onto the bike. He squashed the helmet back over his mass of curls and started the engine. It roared through the courtyard, rumbling into the pavement. Ecthelion took a step back to allow Glorfindel more room to swerve out into the driveway and onto the road.

 

    Later, Ecthelion was found on his sofa eating salt-and-vinegar crisps with Aredhel’s son. He liked Maeglin, but considered the boy a little strange in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He liked conspiracy theories and dinosaurs, and thought the moon landing was fake. Aredhel was a wonder to support him all by herself, so Ecthelion was always happy to babysit if he had the night off, which he usually did. He never asked for anything in return, especially when her baking was more than enough repayment.

    They were watching a film, having already devoured a large bowl of nachos and conducted a short music lesson (Maeglin was determined to learn the piano, but Ecthelion wasn’t a very good teacher). Ecthelion was tired, feeling drawn out as the day never seemed to come to an end. Upstairs, he could hear Glorfindel shuffling about, music playing softly over the sound of the film. He half wished they had gone out for a drink after all. It had been a long time since Ecthelion had made a real connection with anyone.

    Maeglin was already falling asleep, sliding onto Ecthelion’s shoulder and yawning. Aredhel never set him a bed time when he was at Ecthelion’s house, but he wasn’t overactive like most eight year-olds were supposed to be, which was something Ecthelion could appreciate. By the time Aredhel came back from work, Maeglin was heavily asleep and Ecthelion was reading.

    Aredhel let herself into the flat, poking her head into the warm, low light. She was wearing her work uniform, her dark hair tied into a messy bun. Ecthelion always thought Aredhel was fair beautiful and wonderfully kind. She was still quite young – only thirty – and yet she had overcome much hardship, and still smiled.

    “How was your shift?” Ecthelion asked, scooping Maeglin into his arms.

    Aredhel sighed. “Exhausting. I don’t like to cover night shifts. You need the right kind of disposition to handle them, but I have no patience for drunks.”

    They went together to her flat, Maeglin still dozing on Ecthelion's shoulder.

    “I saw that Glorfindel came back,” Aredhel said. “He seems nice.”

    Ecthelion said nothing, but walked to Maeglin’s bedroom while Aredhel turned on all the lights. He lay the boy in his bed and Aredhel entered to put him in his pyjamas and tuck him in. Ecthelion left, standing absently in the doorway, thinking of another long day ahead of him tomorrow.

    “Are you alright?” Aredhel asked, joining him at the door a moment later.

    Ecthelion blinked himself out of his reverie. “Yes. Just… thinking.”

    “You work too hard. You ought to take a break.”

    “You don’t get to say that to me,” Ecthelion said with a smirk.

    “That’s true, but you don’t have anyone but yourself to look after, and you don’t even do that.”

    “I do. I take care of myself very well,” Ecthelion rebuked.

    “There’s more to self-care than just healthy eating and exercise. Trust me.” Aredhel fixed him with a knowing look.

    “I don’t know,” Ecthelion murmured.

    “I rarely see you with anyone. I get worried you might be lonely.”

    Ecthelion shifted uncomfortably, staring down at his feet. “I’m fine.”

    Aredhel’s expression became sympathetic, and Ecthelion wished she wouldn’t. He knew she meant well, but he saw no reason for her to pry.

    “I should go,” he said, starting for the door.

    “Thank you again for watching Maeglin. It means a lot to me. I hope you understand that.”

    Ecthelion glanced back at Aredhel, watching her eyes shift through more emotions than he had probably ever felt in his life. He knew her secret – she had shared it willingly – and he thought it must be some kind of miracle that she was the person that she was. Sometimes, he saw his life in comparison to hers, and couldn’t imagine himself going through all that and surviving.

    He went back to his apartment, turning off the television and picking up after Maeglin; crisp packets, empty cups of drink. He wondered, absently, what it must be like to actually live with another person. It had been so long since he had moved out of home, but he had never really desired any company in all that time. 

    Ecthelion glanced up again to the ceiling, where he could still hear the faint sounds of Glorfindel’s wakefulness if he strained his ears.

    Before he was even fully conscious of making the decision, Ecthelion had put on his coat, locked up his apartment, and started to head upstairs. It wasn’t very late, not yet.

    He stood outside Glorfindel’s apartment for a long time before he summoned the courage to knock. Inside, the sound of music and footsteps greeted him, until the door opened and he was met with the sight of Glorfindel, curly hair in a bun and wearing a tank-top. When he saw Ecthelion, his face spread into the same, breath-taking smile as before.

    “I want to cash in that raincheck,” Ecthelion said quickly, before he second-guessed himself. “If it’s not too late.”

    “I thought you were babysitting,” Glorfindel said, raising an eyebrow and leaning against the frame of his door. He was a little shorter than Ecthelion.

    “I was,” Ecthelion said. He took a breath, feeling himself an imposition. “We can always go another time. I mean – if you don’t want to –”

    Glorfindel cut him off with a laugh. “I was just teasing. Let me get changed.”

    He left the door open for Ecthelion to enter. He did, stepping in carefully, looking around. Glorfindel’s apartment was set up similarly to Ecthelion’s, except that the kitchen was on the right side, next to the sitting room. Also like Ecthelion, Glorfindel had sacrificed much of his living space for the sake of his work. A large, frameless mirror took up most of the wall next to the balcony, a golden pole set across its centre. Several pairs of ballet shoes were scattered about with a square slab of chalk.

    Glorfindel emerged from his bedroom dressed in jeans and a white shirt, his hair spilling over his shoulders again. It looked like he had unsuccessfully tried to brush it. Ecthelion smiled.

    “Where are you taking me?” Glorfindel asked.

    Ecthelion faltered, his mind going blank. “I don’t know. I don’t frequent pubs or bars.”

    Glorfindel laughed. “Alright. You’re lucky I do. I know somewhere nice that’s open late.”

    “Only one drink, though,” Ecthelion stated as they made for the door. “I have rehearsal tomorrow.”

    “So do I,” said Glorfindel, and he lead the way out of the apartment, locking the door behind them.

    Ecthelion knew, then, in the shadowy corridor of the apartment block where he lived, one floor up from where he usually lingered, that he was making the right decision. He had been so caught up in work and rehearsals that he’d almost forgotten himself; forgotten how to see himself in someone else’s eyes. Glorfindel was like a clandestine happiness he wasn’t supposed to have. But Ecthelion would have it, because it was time he let himself be remembered.


End file.
